Inheritance
by silkyi
Summary: Eighteen-year-old Minka Lowe is to be a District One Volunteer, just like her mother. Unlike her mother, however, she's determined to survive.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The sun beats down on the crowd in their finery, as they wait. The tension is imminent, a low buzz- directed towards two small podiums, set up on either side of the main stage. On one side, the female nominee stands, flanked by her first and second alternate. They stand straight-backed, fully aware of the attention of the crowd, the cameras, the Capitol.

The escort, a tall lilac-haired woman, pulls out a name from the glass sphere in front of her, agonizingly slowly. The Academy nominee- eighteen-year-old Shimmer Caldwell- leans forward, her body like a coiled spring. She rolls the well-rehearsed phrase over in her mouth- _I volunteer as tribute_. Her heart pounds. _You've been training for this for years_ , she tells herself. _You cannot fail now._

Finally, the escort asks the all-important question- _do we have any volunteers?_ Shimmer opens her mouth to speak, but finds herself drowned out by a nearby voice- the second alternate raises her hand as she shouts, deeming herself tribute.

"Velvet", Shimmer says, the words escaping her lips before she can stop herself. "What are you doing?"

The second alternate turns her head away, giving no response. In the middle of the crowd, surrounded by cameras, Shimmer begins to sob.

Velvet tries to ignore the crying girl- the rightful volunteer- behind her. She rises onto the stage, standing tall as her name is announced, as the proceedings continue. She beams as she shakes the male tribute's hand, as the two of them are officially announced as the District One Tributes for the 79th Games. It is only when she is escorted off stage and into the Justice Building that she allows the smile to fall from her face.

Velvet sits in waiting on a plush red couch, made of her namesake. A peacekeeper opens the door. "Stelle Lowe is here to see you." Velvet nods wearily, and her mother is let in, clutching her baby granddaughter.

"Well done, darling," Stelle says as she lowers herself onto the sofa. "I told you, there's nothing they can do to stop unexpected volunteers, hm?"

"Mom," Velvet says shakily, "What have I done? They're gonna find some way of punishing this, I know it. It wasn't supposed to be me."

Her mother sniffs crossly. "Well, better you than that idiot Shimmer girl. Her family bribed the Academy to nominate her, I bet. She wouldn't have made it past the first night. Besides, it would have been you, if…certain circumstances hadn't arisen." She aims a barely-concealed glance in the direction of the sleeping child. Velvet takes the infant into her own arms, rocking her softly.

"You have to take care of her if I don't come back, okay, Mom? I don't want her in the Games."

In response, Stelle offers a small nod. She does not meet her daughter's gaze.

They sit in silence until a peacekeeper comes to collect the two visitors. As she stands, Stelle stares piercingly into her daughter's eyes, blue like her own.

"Good luck, darling," she says. "You can win; I know you can."

"I don't have a choice, do I? I have to. For Minny." With that, Velvet kisses her baby daughter on the forehead for the last time. She turns her head away, so that her departing mother cannot see her cry.

 **AN: Hi everyone! This is the first Hunger Games fanfic I've ever written, so please feel free to offer any constructive criticism or suggestions! Also, it's probably not going to be a major element of this story, but this takes place in a version of Panem where the rebellion has not occurred- thus, the Hunger Games have continued. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One- First Light**

I wake to find the sky almost pitch black. In the distant horizon, a thin strip of gold rises in the east. A quick glance at the clock confirms my suspicion that I've awoken far too early- it's half past four. Ordinarily, I'd be up by now, preparing for morning training, but today I'm free till ten. Still, I can't get back to sleep.

I rise out of bed and slip out of my nightdress, replacing it with a plain black shirt and leggings designed for training. I lace up my running shoes and creep out of my bedroom, walking as lightly as possible to prevent the worn floorboards from creaking. It's only when I've stepped out of the front door that I let out a deep breath, watching the resulting fog rise into the cold morning air. I stretch quickly before springing forward into a sprint, my footsteps thudding behind me as I race down the street. Already, the decorations have been hung- lights strung around streetlamps, banners proclaiming the District One crest. Today is a day of celebration.

But today is a reaping different from those in the past- today, I serve as nominee, granted the privilege of volunteering. If I fail to do so, the first alternate will gladly take my position, of course. But I've prepared for today for far too long to let it go to waste.

I make my way down street after street, eventually reaching the city square. My heart rate quickens as I see the centre stage- hours from now, I'll be standing atop it, shaking the hand of my fellow tribute. Already, Peacekeepers stand in watching, making sure no one tampers with the glass domes, filled to the brim with handwritten names. It seems almost redundant- in the last twenty years, not one involuntary tribute has been chosen.

The sun has almost risen by the time I reach home. The house looks best in this dimmed orange lighting- it serves to mask the cracks in its facade, making it look almost new. Broad daylight is not so favourable. No matter- this is the last day I'll spend in this house. There's a whole selection of mansions I can choose from, upon return.

I open the front door as quietly as I can, to no avail. My grandmother, Stelle, already stands in the kitchen, waiting for me. I wince, ready to be berated for waking her- but today is different. She steps forward with a smile, enclosing me in a quick embrace.

"Happy Reaping, darling," she says. "This is your day, just you wait. The whole of Panem will be watching you."

The thought fills me with a strange mix of nervous excitement. I smile, as to not worry Grandmother, and accept her offer of a cup of coffee with gratitude. I sit at the kitchen table, clasping my steaming mug and taking slow sips. To be able to sit and relax seems almost decadent- normally, at this time, I would be halfway through a strenuous workout, with a full day of weapons, strategy, and presentation classes ahead of me. Like many District One children, I've taken everyday classes at the Academy for most of my life. As a young child, they were only after school and on the weekends. It was at age twelve, however, that I became a full time Academy student. It is at twelve that you can legally leave district-regulated schooling to begin Career training, provided you pass their fitness and competence exams. I did so, along with around thirty other kids. For the next six years, this number is gradually whittled down through constant testing, until now, at age eighteen, one nominee and two alternates are selected for both males and females. The nominees are the only one intended to volunteer- the two students, one male and one female, who rank highest, deemed most likely to win the games. However, two alternates are chosen as well, from the students ranking in second and third place, in the case that the nominee ends up sick or injured on the day, or is overcome with nerves and fails to volunteer. However, as the female nominee for the 87th Games, I have no intention of doing so.

The rest of the morning moves quickly. I am almost a passive figure in it- I lay in a bath that my grandmother has drawn, I sit as she brushes my hair, I stand as she fiddles with the fastenings of my dress. Finally, she presents me to the mirror, standing proudly behind me.

I stare back at myself, fiddling with the white lace of my dress. I am struck suddenly by the utter lack of resemblance between me and Grandmother- An exact replica of my mother, only older- the same wide blue eyes, the same delicate bone structure. Grandmother would have even had the same blonde hair, when she was younger. In comparison, I look like a changeling child- my eyes deep brown and upturned, my hair almost black. I've never seen my father, but I can imagine him, with his striking dark features. It almost seems a loss, to have inherited so little of my mother as a last memento.

"Minka?" my grandmother says, snapping me out of my thoughts. "What do you think?"

"This dress is beautiful, Grandmother. Thank you."

She smiles. "Your mother always loved lace. She would be so proud of you, seeing you grown up like this."

As I go to move away, Grandmother stops me- one final touch. She presents me with a gleaming golden locket in the shape of a heart, before linking it behind my neck.

"Look inside," she implores. I split the two halves of the locket, revealing the image within- a photo of my mother, holding me as a tiny baby. She's smiling at the camera- a real, unprompted smile. I can't help but wonder who was on the other side of the lens- not Grandmother, surely.

"I thought you could use it as a token," she explains. "So that Velvet- so that your mother is with you, in the arena."

"I would love to," I say. My mother was the one who wanted me to enter the games- to win for her, if she failed to come back. To have her with me seems right.

When we open the front door to leave, the peacekeepers who've come to collect us are waiting outside. It's a courtesy that's been afforded to Academy nominees of late- ever since, a few years ago, the female nominee and first alternate were both mysteriously found dead a few hours before the Reaping. Turns out someone had slipped some kind of poison into both their breakfasts. Almost everyone suspected that the second alternate was involved- though there was no use in determining evidence, as she died a few days into the Games. From ingesting poisonous berries, ironically enough.

One of the peacekeepers slides open the door of a sleek black car. Sitting inside fills me with excitement- I've ridden in cars before, but never one this sophisticated. They say that in the Capitol, there's thousands and thousands just like these. We arrive at the city square just as crowds have begun to form.

Flanked by peacekeepers, I begin to feel somewhat overblown in importance. The crowd splits as I make my way towards the podium that houses the three female nominees. I stand in the centre, with my two alternates on either side, and wait for the ceremony to begin.

"Hey, Minny," the first alternate, Ruby, says. "You ready to volunteer?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," I say. "I love your dress, by the way."

"Thanks," she says, preening a little. "I got it custom made, just for today. It's a shame I can't wear it on stage."

"Mmm." I say. I look straight ahead, trying to ignore her gaze. "Could be worse. At least the cameras have a good view of you here." This seems to placate her, a little.

"Yeah. But- if you want to back out or anything- don't you worry. I'm right here, if I need to fill in."

"Thanks. I appreciate it." I say, overly casual. Her intimidation attempt failed, Ruby looks away, cheeks flushed.

They do say that it sometimes happens, though- nominees going to volunteer and just freezing, unable to speak. It's a strange phenomenon- and why the concept of alternates was introduced. Better the second best Academy student goes into the games, rather than a totally untrained 12-year-old, if the first nominee is overcome by nerves. It's obvious that Ruby wishes that I would freeze over- there's nothing she would love more than being able to take my spot. But, unlucky for her, there is nothing that could motivate me to give her that satisfaction. For one, if I don't volunteer- what would I do? At eighteen years of age, I'm legally independent. Grandmother could- and most likely would- cut me off from all support, and there'd be nothing I could do about it. Where would I go from there? I stopped formal schooling at twelve. I could hardly work at the same standard as an eighteen-year-old who's been surrounded by academia for the past six years of their life.

I'm still lost in thought when our escort, Daphne Swann, fishes a piece of paper out of the vast glass sphere containing the girls' names. By the time she's finishes reading out the piece of paper, my hand has shot up into the air.

For one awful second, my voice catches in my throat, and I'm worried that I've suddenly been struck dumb. But I hear my own voice- "I volunteer as tribute!"- echo through the crowd, from what seems like miles away. I feel a sturdy hand- Ruby's- on my shoulder, and for one bizarre moment I think she's going to push me over. Instead, she gives it a gentle squeeze and mouths the words _good luck_. And then I'm moving through the crowd, up over the steps, and I'm in front of the whole nation of Panem. I cannot look startled, I remind myself, and I stand tall and proud as I emerge onto the stage.

"A volunteer- fantastic!" Daphne says with what must be mock-excitement- surely, by now, there is no surprise that District One will produce two volunteers, year after year. What's your name?"

"Minka Lowe," I say, and I flash a smile at the crowd as applause rings out from what feels like all directions. The whole experience feels surreal- I've dreamed about this exact moment so many times that I have to keep reminding myself that this is really happening. I stand there as the male tribute is called- to no one's surprise, a volunteer immediately shows himself. Valour Aldersmith, the male nominee, emerges onto stage. He's grinning ear to ear, and I can't help but wonder if, behind that cocky grin, he's secretly terrified.

We're directed to shake hands, and I can't help but feel glad that his hands are as shaky as mine. Though I've seen Valour before, this is the first time we've been this close- from this distance, he isn't quite as attractive. His face is a little round, his pale blue eyes a little too wide. Surely, he's scrutinizing me in the same way.

We stand aside one another, as the anthem plays. Immediately after it ends, we are escorted off the stage by a host of Peacekeepers, into the tall metallic spire of the Justice Building. I sit alone, on a plush velvety sofa, until my grandmother enters the room.

"Minka!" she exclaims, in an uncharacteristic show of excitement. "Well done, darling. You looked so beautiful up on that stage, so poised."

After her initial burst of enthusiasm, Grandmother reverts back to business. She instructs me on how to act once I reach the Capitol- I nod, though I've heard this spiel at least a hundred times before. This time, however, she puts specific emphasis on how I am to ensure I remain memorable in the eyes of the Capitol- "Dull tributes do not win sponsorships," she says. "And without sponsors, you are nothing."

The Peacekeeper outside the door indicates that time is up, and Grandmother wraps me into one final embrace.

"Remember, Minka." she says, her voice rapid and serious. "You have to win this. It's what your mother wanted."

And with that, she's gone, and I'm sat alone once again. Next, a massive gaggle of friends arrive- laughing and chatting away with excitement, they wish me good luck and make me promise I'll remember them when I'm a famous victor. In the corner lingers Ruby- she stands almost shyly, staying after all the others are gone.

"I'm sorry I wanted to take your place," she says, all in a rush. "It's not fair of me, I know. It's just- your family. And mine. I thought maybe I could pay it back, from all those years ago. But I couldn't take your spot, not when you deserve it. The win, I mean. Good luck."

By this time, the Peacekeeper is gesturing impatiently for her to leave. She gives me one quick hug before rushing out, leaving me utterly bewildered.

I sit in waiting until the Peacekeeper gestures for me to follow him. Me and Valour are directed into the back of another car, and we sit in silence as we are driven to the station.

When we emerge, I am momentarily stunned by the enormity of the horde of cameras before us. I remember to smile as I pass them, even giving a quick wave to some. My grandmother's words echo in my head- _be memorable_.

Eventually, we make our way inside the train, away from the endless white flash of camera after camera.

I let out a sigh of relief as the train rolls out of the station. Somehow, it's barely noon, and I'm already exhausted. I excuse myself to my quarters- an extravagant bedroom, filled with plush furniture and enough drawers of clothing to last me for the next month. After exchanging my elaborate lace dress for a kitten-soft cream sweater and silky black trousers, I collapse backwards onto the massive bed that awaits me. I only mean to rest my eyes for a few minutes, but the slow rocking of the train lulls me into a deep slumber. I dream of the empty streets of District One, lit by sunrise, of being followed by something that creeps through the dawn, its looming presence only given away by an occasional flash of gold.


End file.
